House Rider
by Cyberwolf
Summary: Excerpt from chapter 8: 'Most importantly, he watched his father, and learnt how to command so that men would obey.' A story of the Highlands and the family who ruled in it. Chapter 8 up, revised chapter 2 up.
1. Dawn of Swords

The sky was dark blue, the blue of early morning not yet touched by sun. A few stars still glittered, faintly, in the dying reaches of the night. Their light, and that of the full moon still gleaming in the sky, silvered the dew on the grasses, and gleamed on the armor of a figure galloping over the wild moorland.

His armor was sleeker and lighter than that of his ancestors, yet they bore unmistakable traces of his Anglo-Saxon and Welsh heritage – after all, he was a Highlander, of the system of planets called the United Kingdom, and nearly all its inhabitants bore the blood of the nations of Old Earth that it was named for. His head and forearms were bare; a sword was scabbarded against his back.

He rode a stallion, a fine champion-blooded one. As far back in the wilderness as his destination was, none of the other, more modern ways of transportation could reach it so quickly, or with less hassle. Anyway, he was a superb equestrian, who preferred the ancient way of horseback to the hovercars and other machines everyone else used. It was an attitude unique to those of the United Kingdom.

As the moon began to set, his horse topped a hill, and his destination came into view. It was a massive castle, wrought of stone dark as the gray of a wolf's pelt. It, like his armor, was a sleeker but mostly faithful reproduction of the ancient things of their Welsh heritage – in this case, of a Welsh lord's keep. It had many modern conveniences, but little evidence of that could be seen from the outside. A banner whipped in the air from the highest point of the northern and tallest tower – a unicorn in full gallop, one foreleg raised, white with a golden horn.

The sigil of House Rider.

The man finally pulled his stallion to a more sedate pace, letting him trot slowly towards the drawbridge being lowered for him. At long last, after years of absence, he had returned to his lord, to his best friend, to his one true home. Adian Lowe had returned to Caer Rheidyr.

He rode into the foreyard, where servants and stablemen in livery helped him down and led his horse to the stable, where a warm mash and a comfortable stall awaited him. Adian looked around, expecting but not finding two faces. He turned to a tall man, the butler of the household.

"Where's Stephen and Ceri, Finn?" Adian asked him. 

"Lord Rider is with Lady Rider in their quarters. The Lady has gone into labor…"

"_Myn duw!" Adian swore, already running for the entrance of the castle. "Already? Aw, man, I was hoping I'd get here before that! How long?" he asked the butler as they pelted up the wide, spiraling grand staircase in the entrance hall._

"My…lady's….water broke…an…hour ago," gasped out the older man. Adian was a fast runner.

Adian nodded, then upped his speed, leaving poor old gasping Finn behind. He turned a corner, sharply, into a corridor he knew led to the master bedroom. His years away had not dimmed his memory of the castle's layout. He skidded to a stop when he saw a familiar dark-haired young man, his own age, pacing impatiently in front of a pair of carved wooden doors.

"Stephen!" he called out, hurrying towards the man who was the closest thing to a brother he had ever had, his best friend, and his liege lord. "Stephen!"

Stephen looked up sharply, brown eyes widening in astonishment. "Adian!" He hurried forward, his concern for his wife momentarily pushed aside – though never forgotten - in the reunion with his best friend. "You're back!" Laughing, he seized the other man in a hug. They pounded each other's shoulders when they separated, asking questions.

"You've returned? Really returned, not just for a visit?" Stephen asked, leading Adian to a bench before the wooden doors he had been pacing in front of not a minute ago.

"The knight-masters _never let their students out for a vacation, you know that, Stephen," Adian told him mock-admonishingly. "Of course I'm back for good. You can't get rid of me that easily, old friend."_

"That means you've finished your training?" Stephen inquired, eyes boyishly wide in astonishment. "You're a blademaster?"

In reply, Adian reached behind him and slid the sword a little ways free of the scabbard – just enough for Stephen to see the eagle engraved upon the blade.

The engraved eagle – the mark of a fully-trained blademaster. Here, in traditional Highlands especially, a man caught bearing an eagle-mark blade illegally could be punished most harshly. The knight-masters who were the only ones who could appoint a man blademaster were jealous of the prestige the mark gave, and protected it vigorously. Adian had been training with them for eight years now, and he was no fool – he must have earned it.

Stephen smiled proudly. "My best friend, a blademaster." He chuckled softly. "Who would have thought it, eh, Adian? Back when we were children and played at soldiers with sticks? Or drove old Finn mad when we set loose the hounds inside the castle or stole the sweetmeats for father's banquets? Now I am a lord and you are one of the finest warriors in the kingdom."

Adian smiled back, but there was worry in his dark blue eyes. "Stephen…how is my sister? How is Ceri?"

Stephen's smile vanished. "I don't know," he sighed, running a hand through dark brown hair already made rumpled with hours of stress. "Her water broke an hour ago, almost two months ahead of her due date. The doctor's with her now, but he looked worried…and they won't let me inside!" This last in a tone of absolute bitterness, the bitterness of a man in love afraid for his beloved and not allowed to see her.

Adian's eyes were worried, as well. Ceri was his sister, his beloved younger sister. They were a year apart in age, but were as close as twins. Ever since they had been orphaned and come here, to be fostered at Caer Rheidyr, he had been fiercely protective of her. She was his only family left. He had pledged his loyalty to Llewellyn, Stephen's father, then to Stephen himself when the time had come for him to take the lordship, but it was for his sister that he would lay his life down.

"My lord…" the voice of an old man pierced the silence that had come between them. Both young men bolted to their feet at the doctor's words, never mind that he had addressed only Stephen.

"It is done. Your wife is safe, and you are the father of a baby boy." The doctor smiled. No matter how many times he brought life into the world – he had delivered Stephen himself, as well as countless others – it was still a rush that suffused him.

"Thank god," breathed out Stephen in fervent thanks, a sentiment echoed by Adian who begun to mutter a quiet prayer. He nodded to the old doctor. "Thank you, Doctor Renn…I mean…"

The white-haired old man chuckled. "Why don't you just get inside, Stephen?"

Stephen needed no more words. He ran inside, Adian at his heels. The room was large, as wide as many houses were, but he crossed the distance in double-quick time, at his wife's bedside as soon as he could get there.

She was propped up against the ornate headboard with pillows, cradling something in her arms. Her long blond hair fell over her face, hiding it, as she bent her head; but then she raised it as she heard her husband approach.

She was glowing with a sort of happy contentment that seemed too much for any mortal – a golden, shining light in her face. She smiled as she saw him, a smile that welcomed and comforted and enraptured him. It seemed that no more happiness could be in her face then there was now – yet somehow, impossibly, her smile widened and her blue eyes – so like Adian's own – brightened further as she saw her brother striding in behind her husband.

"Adian!" she cried out in gleeful surprise. "You came back!"

"Yes, love," chuckled Stephen, "he has. Hasn't it been a wonderful day? I have gained a son and regained my best friend, all at once!"

Ceri smiled, Adian smiled, the two siblings looking nearly identical in their happiness. All three of them stood in a circle of shared joy.

The bundle in Ceri's arms stirred, and a thin wailing pierced the air. Stephen and Adian stepped back, startled, and Ceri laughed at the look on their faces. "Haven't you ever heard a baby cry before?" she asked them. She offered the baby up to Stephen. "Here, Stephen, hold him – hold your son."

If anything, the startled surprise in the Highland Lord's face increased to something quite like terror. Yet, quaking slightly, he took the proffered bundle – awkwardly, yet gently, knowing instinctively how to hold his infant son. The infant's crying quieted as his father held him, till he was only making quiet coos and hiccoughs.

Stephen stared at the baby he held in his arms, at the sheer perfection of the tiny thing. He found himself counting fingers and toes, laying a gentle finger on the small nose, amazed that all of it had come together so well, so perfectly…

Adian peered over Stephen's shoulder at his newborn nephew. The child had a peach-fuzz of fair hair on his head, and his eyes, when they opened, were a clear blue. Adian felt his own face splitting into a grin nearly as foolish as the one on Stephen's face.

"My son…I have a son….I'm a father…" Stephen mumbled softly, as if saying these facts out loud would cement them into reality.

"What do we name him, Stephen?" asked Ceri, watching her brother and her husband's obvious adoration of her little son with amusement.

"Stephen Jr? Adian Jr? Llewellyn Jr?" rattled off Adian. Ceri could not help but giggle.

"Saber…." Stephen said. He looked at his wife and his best friend, seeking approval. "We've always been a family who values skill with the sword," he said. "And he was born on the day Adian came back a blademaster."

"Saber it is, then," Adian said, unexpectedly touched. "Saber Rider."

*** 

The years rolled by as happily as they could be. Adian, as was rather expected, was made into Stephen's Captain of the Guard. Aside from his excellent performance in training the Rheidyr men-at-arms and ensuring the safety of the Rider family, Adian became, for all intents and purposes, Stephen's right hand in governing the Rheidyr dukedom. Saber grew into a sturdy, laughing little boy, running all over the castle and inevitably getting into mischief. He was quite adored by his parents and uncle, and would have been quite spoiled if it weren't for the sensible head he already had on his shoulders.

He hero-worshipped both his father and his uncle, and his greatest pleasure was watching them practice the swords; either by themselves or fencing against each other. He would gape, blue eyes wide, at the silver flashing blades as they would go back and forth across the mat.

It was on a sunny spring day that it happened. Saber had celebrated his fifth birthday two months earlier. Stephen and Adian were in the castle's huge library, maps spread out in front of them. Red lines snaked across both the paper maps and the digital screens that displayed maps, as Adian and Stephen discussed how best to deploy the border guard. Their neighbor, Baron Macduff, had recently died, and now his three sons were fighting for control of their father's lands. The concern that the fighting would spill over to the lands of Caer Rheidyr or that a defeated son would seek for conquests further north was one that had been occupying their thoughts for days now.

They had been at it for over three hours, without break, now. Adian gave a jaw-cracking yawn and stretched. "Stephen, let's take a break," he suggested. "We can't do much good if we're too bleary-eyed to see the maps."

Stephen sighed. "Alright. But we get back to work in ten minutes."

Adian stood up and walked over to the coffee machine. As he poured himself a cup of steaming brew, he looked out the window which was next to the table. There, in the sun-drenched courtyard, was Saber. He held a long stick in his hands, and a cooking-pot lid was strapped to his arm with a belt. A sword and a shield.

'Playing soldier again,' he thought to himself, laughing a bit at the earnest look on his nephew's face as he thrust out with his stick. Saber moved with a certain purpose and determination that was a little bit odd on such a young fellow.

He tripped over a loose cobblestone and fell. He sat on the ground, looking for a moment like he would cry. His face was scrunched up, at least. But then he shook his head, and the tearfulness disappeared. He scrambled to his feet and hefted the stick again. He moved carefully, as if through a set of forms painstakingly memorized.

Adian narrowed his eyes. Somehow, the way he moved tugged at his memory – a tickle of consciousness that he should know. He studied his nephew's play more carefully. Right slash, left slash, parry, parry, block, weave, weave, parry - the boy at least wasn't doing the idiotic bash-and-smash that most children (and many young men) took as swordplay, his movements were somewhat authentic - riposte, slash-and-slash, parry, thrust, upward slash. Adian frowned. It looked familiar....and then it came to him.

'He's doing the Claws of the Dragon!' he thought, with rather more than a mild sense of shock. The Claws of the Dragon was one of the sword-forms that he had learnt under the knight-masters, and a rather advanced one. And here was a five year old, doing it! True, Saber moved awkwardly, with none of the fluidity of a true blademaster, but still…

"Stephen…" he said, quietly. "Come here."

"What is it, Adian?" asked Stephen, walking to his brother-in-law's side.

"Look at Saber."

Stephen did, smiling at the sight of his young son playing. "What of it?"

"He's doing an eagle-level sword form."

Stephen stopped smiling. "What?"

"He's doing an eagle-level sword form. That's the Claws of the Dragon he's performing."

"But…but…how?"

"I don't know," Adian admitted. He shrugged. "Maybe he saw it in a book – he's known how to read for two years now, after all. Or maybe he saw me practicing. I don't know," he repeated. "All I do know is, that boy's got serious talent. Look at him!" Saber chose that moment to pull off a whirlwind of thrusts, completing the move with a grace that should have been out of reach for his five-year-old body. Both men gaped.

"He was _born_ to be a _lantriath," Adian said fervently, like a prayer. "Can you imagine what he'll be capable of with training?" His eyes gleamed with excitement. What a find! What a discovery! _

"Adian…" Stephen's voice was grave, snapping Adian out of his daydream of Saber arriving at the Palace of Swords - the training place for aspiring blademasters - and beating the snot out of the other students. Funnily enough, the boy he was defeating was looking very much like a young version of his worst enemy back then....he shook his head and focused on his brother-in-law's words. 

"I will not let my boy be sent to the knight-masters. Not yet, anyway…he's too young!"

"I didn't mean that, Stephen!" Adian answered, waving his hands in placation. "Ceri would kill me if I ever suggested it." He smirked slightly at the idea of his sweet, gentle younger sister threatening him…which he knew she would do, without pause, if he ever mentioned an idea like that to her. Ceri was very protective of Saber.

"But let _me begin training him," Adian pleaded. "Saber would love having fencing lessons anyway; you saw how much he likes to watch us. The boy could become one of the best, Stephen."_

Stephen looked out at his little son.

"Alright. You can start tomorrow. But Adian…don't push him too hard. He's only a little boy. He has all the time in the world to become a blademaster."

"Of course, Stephen. I love him too, you know."

"I know."

***

AN: My first foray back into the world of fanfic in a year! And you can tell…this needs serious revision. Oh well, I pulled it together in one day (a speed record for someone slow as me) And it will be revised, and it will be continued. I swear.

Okay, about the story. I'm making up the geography of the Highlands where Saber comes from. Assume that it's part of a planetary system called the United Kingdom, with planets corresponding to Scotland, Ireland, Wales, the Isle of Man, and England. It is one of the systems closest to the Sol System, one of the oldest colonized. It is, in fact, been colonized for so long that it is hardly considered Frontier. People have lived there for hundreds of years already. Each planet has a king; the High King rules from Planet Breton, and is overlord over the whole system. Saber's family, House Rider, lives on Planet Antir, which is populated mostly by those of Scottish descent but has certain Welsh influences as well. More about the United Kingdom government later.

_Caer Rheidyr: Rheidyr is Rider in Gaelic, actually knight, but it has the same meaning._

_Lantriath: in Gaelic it's lord of the blades, loosely translated._

_Myn duw: my god in Welsh_


	2. Children of the Wind

           Adian smiled gently as he lowered his head to kiss his nephew's sun-bright hair. Five-year-old Saber laid in his four-poster bed, dressed in pajamas, blankets drawn up to his chin. He looked up at his uncle, blue eyes catching and holding blue eyes. 

Stephen and Ceri were attending a necessary diplomatic function at Thavos, capital of Antir. Thavos being several days away from Rheidyr, Stephen and Ceri would be gone from the dukedom for almost two weeks. Thus, the task of tucking Saber into bed every night had fallen to Adian – a task that the affectionate uncle was glad to undertake. 

"G'night, Saber," he whispered, grinning at the way Saber hugged his stuffed dog – a fuzzy black spaniel he called Toddy – to himself. In response, Saber yawned. The little boy was very tired – Adian had taken advantage of the absence of his highly overprotective younger sister to increase the rate of Saber's training, and it had accordingly tired Saber out. Adian grinned again, this time at how Saber's yawn reminded him very much of one of the Castle's kittens. 

He left the room, switching off the light as he did so. 

*** 

            It had been two weeks since Ceri and Stephen had gone; the Lord and Lady would be returning in the morning, as Finn had gravely reminded everyone in the castle. The castle had been in a frenzy of activity the whole day, preparing for their Lord's return. Adian had taken Saber out for a ride that day, to keep him from getting in the servants' way. As a result, with his break from his newly-intensified training, Saber was awake enough to ask for a bedtime story that night.

            "Sure, Saber," Adian agreed, seating himself on his nephew's bed. "Any requests?" 

            Saber chewed his lip as he thought, a characteristic he had picked up from Adian himself. Absentmindedly, he fingered the ring hanging on a thin silver chain around his neck. The ring had been with him all his life. He never took it off, not even when bathing. 

The Riders had four heirlooms from their ancient beginnings on Earth. Two of these were seal-rings; the Lesser Ring, silver with an onyx stone, and the Greater Ring, gold with an opal. The Greater Ring was carried on the person of the Duke Rider, whoever it was, at all times. The Lesser Ring was entrusted to whoever was heir from the moment of their birth. 

Saber didn't know all this, but he did know was that the ring he wore was very important, and that he'd better not lose it. He traced his index finger lightly over the unicorn rampant carved into the onyx.

            "Tell me about unicorns," he said impulsively, looking up at his uncle. "Tell me a story about them." Adian had seen his nephew looking at the ring, and he knew what brought this request on. He chewed his lip himself as he tried to decide what he should say. 

Suddenly, a memory came to him: a cold winter's day, with blizzard-winds howling through the night and the air filled with a flurry of snow. Three children had clumped very close to each other, sitting near the red flames blazing in the fireplace. Old Adian Rider, Stephen's grandfather and Adian's namesake, sat in the biggest, softest armchair, and distracted the children with legends about the children of the wind…

            Adian smiled at Saber. He knew just the story to tell him.

            "Unicorns are immortal," Adian began. 

            "What's immortal?" asked Saber, struggling a little with the unfamiliar word.

            "It means they can't die of old age. Or sickness. But unicorns can be killed. Not by the swords and guns of Man; oh no, the unicorn is too powerful to have their lives taken by such as that."

            "Really?" asked Saber, blue eyes wide. "What are unicorns like?"

            "They are fast…"

            "Like Evander?" Saber said, naming Adian's big gray stallion. 

            "Even faster, my little _lantriath_," Adian said, using his nickname for Saber. He ruffled Saber's hair and chuckled as he saw the enrapt expression on the child's face. "They can run so fast that they'll be standing there one moment and then a hundred miles away the next, because unicorns are children of the wind, and they have their sire's speed."

            "Wow…" Saber breathed. Then he frowned in thought. "Wait…how can the wind have children? It's not alive!" 

            Adian laughed again and drew Saber into his lap, hugging the tiny boy. How like his mother, with a question always on his lips. "How do you know the wind's not alive?" he whispered. "You can't see it, can you? And it moves, doesn't it? Oh, yes, my young nephew, the wind is alive. Maybe not like you and me, but it is alive. The storms are its anger; the cold winter winds are its icy sleep-breath. Then it wakes up in the spring, and it's warm and soft again, bringing rain to quench the land's thirst after its sleep in the winter. When you feel hot in the summer, and a breeze springs up to cool you, that's the wind wanting to give you comfort, in apology for the coldness of winter. And when a stray puff of wind pulls your kite away or blows your father's papers all over the study, that's the wind being mischievous."

            Saber listened attentively, almost hypnotized by the lyrical cant of his uncle's tale-telling. "Really?" he said, amazed. 

            Adian grinned and tweaked his nephew's nose. "What do you think?" 

            Saber chewed his lip again, taking his uncle's question seriously. Finally, he met his uncle's dancing eyes and announced, "I'll ask daddy." 

Adian laughed. "Okay, cautious one, you do that." 

            "Now, we were talking about unicorns? Ah yes. The unicorns are the children of the wind, and they can run at the wind's pace. They can be any color – white as snow, black as night, storm-cloud gray, red as fire – even blue like the sea! But all unicorns have a golden horn. A baby unicorn's horn," he told Saber, "Is clear, like glass, and very short. But as they grow older, it becomes gold, and longer. A very old unicorn could have a horn this long!" And he stretched his arms apart to indicate the length. "But it's not too big for that old unicorn, because a unicorn grows alongside his horn."

            "Their horns are very magical. When they run, it absorbs the magic of the air; when they eat, it absorbs the magic of the ground; when they drink, it absorbs the magic of the water. And all the while, it absorbs the sun-magic, the star-magic, the moon-magic, and the magic of the living things all around it."

            "Unicorns can heal anything, Saber. They touch their horn to you, and whoosh! You feel all_ better." He gently touched the boy's forehead with his finger to illustrate, and Saber erupted into giggles. "And if the unicorn touches a well – any natural source of water – with the horn, the water there turns into Elixir of Life."        _

"Unicorns are guardians. They protect the territory they have. Even if no one knows they're there, or thanks them for the protection." 

Adian continued to talk about unicorns long into the night. By the time Saber's eyes began to droop closed, it was late. Adian bent over to kiss Saber's forehead. The boy's blue eyes flew open, and he asked his uncle one last question. "Uncle Adian…you said that unicorns can't die except be killed. But unicorns are so nice…why would people want to kill them?"

"Shh…" Adian said, smoothing Saber's blond hair back. "It's late, Saber. Questions tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

Saber fell asleep, dreaming of riding a black unicorn that ran like the wind.


	3. Thieves in the Night

            There must have been a traitor in his household. 

            The thought bounced uncomfortably around Stephen Rider's head as he and at least a third of his clann's men-at-arms combed through the forests of the single mountain on Rheidyr land. Stephen and twenty other men were mounted; the others were on foot. Ten men handled an absolutely huge pack of hounds, a pack swelled by the borrowing of dogs from all his neighbors. 

            Stephen was searching for his son. 

            There must have been a traitor, he thought again, grimly. How else would they have known the lay-out of his castle so well, known how to avoid the guards so handily? 

            How would they have known to perform their crime on _that_ particular night?

            Stephen and Ceri had gone out that night – barely two hour's ride by hovercraft. They'd been invited to attend a banquet to celebrate the engagement of Duke McGregor's eldest daughter to a nobleman – an 'outlander' noble, as people might say, since he did not hail from Planet Antir, but he at least came from the United Kingdom. 'Outlander' was not at all bad, nowhere as bad as if Laura had married a 'foreigner' – meaning someone from outside the United Kingdom. Inhabitants of the UK were very insular. 

            Laura McGregor was a good friend of both Stephen and Ceri, and so of course it was necessary that they attend. Adian, also a friend, was going too – _and_ he was escorting someone, an event rare enough that it made his sister quite giddy with happiness. It was to have been such a happy night…

            …Saber was left alone that night. Of course his parents had warned him about it, telling him he was a big boy now and should be able to drop off to sleep without them there. Adian and Stephen made a point of reviewing the placement of guards near Saber's bedroom. And Saber took it pretty well – though he did insist on an extra bedtime story the night before, since "I won't get one tomorrow." 

            That night, while his parents and uncle were celebrating at a castle far away, thieves came to Caer Rheidyr. And they took away not gold, not jewels, not data-discs (though they had left Ceri behind in a messy computer-room to see what files had been accessed) but the most precious thing they could have. His son. 

            They had planned it well, Stephen thought as he watched the dogs snuffle through the forest. There was only a small strike force, to lessen the chances of detection. They had been disguised in the non-descript clothing of villagers, so that no one would really think to question them once outside the castle as they would have if they'd been dressed in the body-armor of most soldiers and mercenaries – for they were too well-trained to be anything else – or even in the slightly predictable castle livery as costumes. They were in and out of the castle in only around thirty minutes, using a secret tunnel to get in and out. Caer Rheidyr was practically honeycombed with secret passages, as the first Rider had based it on a similarly honeycombed castle back on Old Earth. The tunnel they had used wasn't one of the 'deep cover' passages, the ones known only to those of the Rider blood and a select few of the Riders' most loyal men – still, the fact that they had used any of the tunnels, even one that was hardly secret anymore, signified that they had had inside help – and a fairly good brain to coordinate it all.

            But, Stephen thought, still watching the dogs' fruitless search, they hadn't counted on their prey being able to fight back. They had found the guards posted near Saber's room bruised and bleeding, but apparently having put up enough of a fight to take down one of the raiders. The raiders had left their fallen comrade behind, not having the time or the manpower to carry his unconscious body with them. The man was currently in the deepest darkest room of Caer Rheidyr – the Riders never having built a dungeon, but finding that the cellar could function quite well as one for indeterminate periods of time. 

            And then to their further dismay, the raiders found that the little boy had heard the commotion outside the room and woken up. They burst into the bedroom to confront a small five-year-old boy backed into the furthest corner, brandishing a long aluminum rod that had once been part of a mop. 

            They had of course disabled the security cameras, but apparently they hadn't known enough to be aware of the new, hidden observation system that Stephen had installed into his castle – largely on the urging of security-conscious Adian. While waiting impatiently for the men-at-arms to assemble, Stephen and Adian had watched the tapes. The men had laughed at little Saber, until, stick-fighting using the sword techniques his uncle taught him, he had dealt a man – the leader, Stephen hoped – a painful blow to the head. 

            They had stopped laughing. The man who had been hit started to curse instead, gingerly touching his scalp and seeing blood on his hand. 

            Of course, in the end Saber was overpowered, thrown over a burly man's shoulder and carried off, kicking and screaming his face red the whole while. But the boy – and the guards – and the thick, steel-core doors of Saber's bedroom – had all together bought enough time so that the raider's plan was thrown off schedule. The alarm sounded had sealed off all the airports and spaceports for leagues around – for Stephen Rider was a powerful man, and the fact that he barely exercised that power just made it all the more potent when he did. 

            They had impounded a spacecraft that had been identified as the designated get-away vehicle of the raiders. This told them two things: one, that they had been planning to take Saber offworld; and two, that the raiders were now stuck on familiar land.

            Stephen had been searching for two days. Adian, just as angry and terror-stricken as Saber's parents, led another force of Rider men to search the area south of Caer Rheidyr; Stephen was searching north. He had men in the air, using the very latest in sensor equipment to seek out any human signatures; he had men on the ground doing the same thing. Ceri, back at the castle, was downloading real-time movies of the lands around the castle through spysats, seeing if she could spot anything out of the ordinary. And of course, that ancient, and to Stephen sometimes more reliable, method of a search party complete with hounds. 

            Stephen raised his comm, checking in with Ceri and Adian. Neither of the siblings had found anything. Grimly, he turned back to his own party. 

            He _would_ find his son.

*** 

            Stephen did find his son, after checking out an abnormality that Ceri had spotted on the monitors. He found the raiders holed up in a small, ancient shack that, while rickety and leaky and certainly unsanitary, had somehow been rigged up by the raiders in the short time they were there to deflect sensor scans. 

            They stormed the house, so quickly and in such overwhelming numbers that the raiders (who had been sleeping; the one lookout had been sniped by Stephen himself, who was a crack-shot) had no time to do anything but sit up and look blearily around before being clapped into irons. 

            Stephen did find his son – and many the curses he laid upon the raiders when he did. Saber had been jammed into a closet (that leaked water; it had been raining recently) wrists and ankles bound tightly with rough rope – so tightly that he bled. A dirty rag had been stuffed into his mouth as a gag; his skin was pale and several bruises stood out lividly on that pale skin. Stephen panicked when Saber did not respond at first to gentle shaking and the loosening of his ropes – when Saber finally opened his blue eyes to his father's face, the dim smile and the way he dropped off almost immediately into an almost drugged sleep did not make him feel that much better. 

            When Ceri saw her son, she burst into tears – and not all of her tears were of relief. Adian had scowled and stalked off to speak with a policeman. Stephen did not know what the young blademaster had told the policeman, but he suspected it had something to do with the preferred handling of the raiders. 

            They immediately summoned Dr. Renn, who had grimly told them that aside from the signs of a beating (Ceri's eyes immediately filled with tears at the word 'beating'; she often enough saw her baby boy bruised and scraped, thanks to his habit of tearing around the castle and his training with his uncle, but the idea that anyone would deliberately try to hurt Saber was horrible) Saber also had a slight concussion, signs of starvation and, from the damp, cold conditions of the cabinet he had been stuffed in, the beginnings of pneumonia.

            Saber lay on the bed, running a high temperature and wheezing for each breath. Stephen stood by his son's bedside, sadly running a hand through blond hair damp with fever-sweat. Renn had gone to fetch various antibiotics; if Saber's fever broke, he'd be on the road to recovery; if not, his various conditions would combine to something worse that could end in…end in something that Stephen was not willing to contemplate. 

            He clenched his fist, vowing with rage uncharacteristic to the normally even-tempered Duke that if his son died, he would make sure that each and every one of the raiders did as well – whether through the death penalty still legal in the UK or, if that didn't pass, through…other means.

            He pictured Adian's face, the blond man's face angry and sad in equal amounts as he gazed at his nephew. If he did have to take justice into his own hands, he knew he had an ally. 

AN: First update in, what, five months? Sorry…

Anyway, trying to update quicker. As you have noticed, this is a very Saber-centric story (what can I say, he's my favorite character) but other Star Sheriffs will be showing up in a few chapters. And thanks to the reader who pointed out that Saber's parents' real names are Edward and Mary; but I made up a whole history for him in my head. Ahh…think of it as an AU, why doncha? Actually, the first SRatSS fic I wrote already had Stephen and Ceri in them, so I kinda got fixed in the idea. 

Ceri and Adian are Welsh names, by the way. Ceri means 'poetry' and Adian – which can also be an Irish name meaning fire – is a derivative of 'aden', Welsh for wings. 

This is going to go very metaphysical in a bit…but after that it will start veering more towards the tone of the show itself. Hehehe…and I will actually start using canon references again. I've been ignoring that for a while, haven't I? It's been such fun making up my own planetary system and all the stuff that goes with it! 

Oh yeah, a disclaimer: the people of my UK do not necessarily bear a resemblance to people of the real UK. I don't think that real British or Irish or Scottish or Welsh people really are as tradition-bound and insular as mine, okay? No offense is meant to any real UK people. 


	4. Dreams of the Wild

Ceri stood beside the bed, looking down at Saber with the sad, heart- broken expression of mothers whose children are ill – and who can't do anything about it. Her son looked very small and very pale as he lay there, swallowed up as he was in the dark-blue feather ticks of his parents' huge four-poster bed. His white pajamas – his favorite because they were so well worn, the cloth rubbed by wear into an incredible softness – clung to his tremor-wracked frame due to the light sheen of sweat covering him.  
  
All around the pair was the quiet, muted hum and beeping of various medical equipment at work. Stephen had arranged for enough hospital electronics to be brought into their bedchamber to put any of the galaxy's finest hospitals to shame. Dr. Renn, who in his youth had pioneered several medical advances and was acknowledged as one of the finest minds in medicine, practically lived at the castle now. If Stephen thought that anyone would have been better suited to care for his son, he would have had him brought here – even if he were on the other side of the galaxy, and damn the expenses! As it was, though, there was no one better, and there was nothing more to be done.  
  
Adian spent his days going through Caer Rheidyr with a fine-tooth comb, augmenting its current security system to such a degree that he was practically rebuilding it from the ground up. He did not neglect the human aspects of the castle's security, and the guardsmen endured much haranguing and harsher training sessions than ever before. Stephen finally had to take him aside and remind his brother-in-law that, considering how professional the raiders seemed to be, the guardsmen were not to be blamed and certain of them – the ones outside Saber's room and the one who had set off the alarm – should even be commended. Adian, who blamed himself far more than he blamed the guardsmen anyway, eased up – using his extra time to oversee the questioning of the raiders at the local police station. Although technically the police were under the direct command of the High King from Breton, Duke Rider was popular at the station. He was good friends with the commander, and many of the men had grown up in that area, grown up under the rule of the Riders. They were a good family to be under. Yes, the police force was particularly anxious to get the raiders to talk.  
  
Ceri, for her part, had spent the last week at her son's bedside. Despite all their hopes, Saber's fever did not break after that first night. It lowered slightly, but his temperature still remained alarmingly high. His periods of wakefulness were few and far between; and he was never completely awake even then. At first, he had drifted in a sort of stasis – fever not breaking but not rising, his lungs congested but not worsening. And then, abruptly, a few days ago, things had taken a definite turn for the worse. The pneumonia developed into complications so severe that they had to put Saber on an oxygen mask, to ease the strain on his lungs. His fever had begun to rise; and, already half-starved from his captivity, they had to inject the boy with an IV drip because he had this distressing tendency to vomit whatever food got into his stomach. And, to top it all off, he had descended further into unconsciousness, hovering just above being completely comatose. He hadn't woken for thirty-six hours now.  
  
His eyelids fluttered rapidly. Ceri's heart clenched, an ice-cold fist squeezed around it, and she grabbed her son's hand. It was limp in her grasp, and clammy – the ice-cold sweat a disturbing contrast to the burning heat of his skin.  
  
Despite the hope that now Saber would finally wake up, nothing happened, and the boy continued in his deep, wheezing-breathed slumber. Ceri sighed, reaching out her free hand to cup Saber's cheek. It felt much like his hand did – fever-hot skin underneath an icy layer of sweat. She squeezed his hand tighter. This was wrong. Parents should not linger by their child's sickbed – they should be out chasing after rambunctious youngsters who would not stay in bed. It was the parents who should be in the sickbed, and their children sitting vigil by their side – many many years from now.  
  
_'Or now.__ I'd trade places with Saber in a heartbeat.'  
  
She turned her head at the sound of the door sliding open. Still tense from the kidnapping incident a week ago, she found herself reaching for the blaster on the table beside her before recognizing the man in the doorway.  
  
"Hey, sis," Adian greeted her, his voice assuming that hushed quality that most people adopt when in a sickroom. "Any change?"  
  
The hope in his dark blue eyes – so like hers, so like Saber's – made her blink back a burning in her own as she replied, "No, none at all." Adian's face fell – he tried to hide it, but there was no mistaking the disappointment in his expression. He always hoped for the best whenever he checked in on Saber. Ceri didn't know whether to give thanks for his optimism that bolstered her own – or to curse its misplacedness as it proved, again and again, to be unfounded.  
  
"Oh." He walked nearer, to stand at his sister's side as he looked down on his pale, still nephew. He looked away after a moment. To him, Saber was the lively, laughing child who turned up in the oddest places throughout the castle, hiding in nooks and crannies he found in his roaming, the little boy who so earnestly practiced the swordsmanship he taught as well as the tricks of stealing sweets from the kitchen or whistling like any number of birds so as to fool the castle servants that there was a swallow in the linen closet and such. His little __lantriath – and he did not want to equate that boy with the one in the bed in front of him. The old stories, about sickly-looking changelings and the children they replaced, were for a moment in his thoughts.  
  
He turned his head, his gaze falling onto the small table beside Saber's bed. On it was his favorite stuffed toy, Toddy; the blaster Stephen insisted Ceri arm herself with; and the thin silver chain on which hung the Lesser Ring. Saber had taken it off when the raiders had come, hiding it under his mattress. That had shown more foresight than was expected from a five-year-old.  
  
He remembered a younger Stephen showing the ring to his curious best friend, and how he had run his eyes over and over again the small but exquisitely carved unicorn in the onyx-stone. Thinking of the ring made him think of unicorns; and thinking of unicorns made him think of a song, a song that Saber loved to listen to and was connected to one of the boy's favorite stories.  
  
He began to hum the tune, absently, under his breath. To his surprise, Ceri heard it and immediately began to sing the words. Adian looked at her, a bit surprised. Ceri shrugged and explained, "Dr. Renn said it's good if we keep talking to him, just on the off-chance he can still hear us. I'm certain Saber, if he can hear, would like this song." She looked fondly from her son to her brother. "After all, he keeps asking it from you."  
  
Adian shrugged and smiled. It was a wan smile, but it was the best he could do.  
  
"Right then. When the last eagle flies/over the last…."_

***  
  
_When the last eagle flies  
Over the last crumbling mountain  
  
He stood in the middle of a sun-blasted wasteland, all parched cracked earth and hot winds. The nightmare landscape stretched out in every direction, towards the horizon with no end in sight. It was a bit like the desert-scenes he'd looked at in his books and holos and vids, but worse – because it was real, because it was there, because he was there.  
  
There was an absolute lack of life in the scene that frightened the young boy. The air, despite the winds howling through it, seemed to exude a feeling of…mustiness, non-movement… lifelessness.  
  
He turned in a slow circle, looking around him. The sun – hotter and more vicious than anything the boy had ever felt – beat down on him, burning him. He was unaccustomed to this type of sun-glare; Highland climate was cool, wet, and with mild sun. Not this desert intensity.  
  
To the north was a break in the monotony of parched earth. A single rocky mountain stood there, a huge fang of stone against the flat unbroken blueness of the sky. As Saber fastened his eyes upon it, a large landslide suddenly began – as if his blue gaze had somehow triggered it. An entire section of the mountainside suddenly collapsed, rumbling down the slope, leaving one side of the face completely sheared off.  
  
Something soared up from behind the mountain. Saber was still too far away to see anything more than a small dot hovering above the newly remodeled peak. But then the dot began to move.  
  
It soared even higher into the cloudless sky, diminishing even further in size, until it began to dive. Forward, away from the mountain, and down…  
  
__run away, run away, it'll hurt  
  
…down, abandoning the heights for the land…  
  
__no no no, catch it, run for it, catch it, it's yours  
  
…away from the mountain, that broken-sided, sharp-peaked fang of rock…  
  
__it'll hurt to hold it, it'll cut, it'll burn, it'll rip  
  
…falling from the sky like a javelin hurled straight down…  
  
__i'm born to hold it. it's mine!  
  
Saber held his right arm over his head, crooking it at the elbow to offer the eagle diving towards him a perch for his talons. The eagle pulled up and out of his dive, flaring his wings. Wicked claws that could cleave a prey in half closed around the boy's slender forearm with a delicacy that seemed almost impossible. Saber lowered his arm, slowly, trying not to jostle the raptor perched on it. The eagle bated his great silver wings as Saber lowered his arm, to keep his balance, but did not tighten his hold on the boy's arm one jot. His forearm was parallel to his chest now, and the eagle balanced easily upon his arm was at exactly the right place so that their eyes were on a level.  
  
Saber could see himself reflected in the golden raptor-eyes; he wondered if the eagle could see himself in Saber's blue ones. The eagle was like no other Saber had ever seen – its feathers were none of the brown or tan or white shades he'd expected. Instead they were shining silver, nearly metallic, glare-bright in the heat of the sun. It almost didn't look like a flesh-and-blood animal, more like a…sculpture, a piece of art – steel brought to life. It was a uniform silvery shade everywhere, except for the eyes; those were a gleaming gold.  
  
Saber jerked his arm, in the sudden movement the falconers at the castle had taught him. And just like a trained merlin, the eagle launched from his arm into the air, the winds of his great beating wings sending a welcome breeze through Saber's hair. But instead of soaring into the sky, to find and kill prey, the silver eagle floated a mere few meters directly above Saber's head.  
  
It uttered a single piercing shriek and flew forward – not fast, and not gaining one inch of altitude. Saber stood still for a moment; then, without another word or thought, the young scion of the ancient Rheidyr clann followed the bird of prey.  
  
_

_And the last lion roars  
At the last dusty fountain  
  
The eagle flew towards the broken-fang mountain to the north; and Saber followed. He walked, only, not running or trotting or going very fast – still, somehow, the background changed with his every step, and he was able to keep up with an eagle in full wing. It was like something quite aside from his own feet was moving him towards the mountain.  
  
They were at the foot of the mountain in no time at all. The huge mountain cast a shadow that was very large and very dark; and in this shadow was relief from the desert sun. Saber found it very much like stepping into a totally different world; one second was hot desert with dry sand underfoot; the next the intensity of the sun had faded away, and he was walking on a lush verdant carpet of grass.  
  
As soon as he had set foot upon the grass, the eagle stopped its flight and circled back to him; it landed on his shoulder, talons as gentle to him as ever, and stayed there. Saber went forward.  
  
There was a fountain in the middle of that expanse of grass - only the jets of water it was supposed to produce were not there; and the white marble had turned into the ivory-cream of old stone. Saber came nearer – and was startled when from behind the fountain slunk the long lean form of a full-grown lion. Unlike the eagle, the animal's colors were natural: tawny fur, a sleek mane of darker russet, and yellow cat's eyes. For a moment, it regarded the small boy a mere ten paces away. Then it opened its mouth and very deliberately roared.  
  
The sound was thunder, it was avalanche-rumbling, it was the breaking of earth and the crash of storm-waves upon the shore. Saber involuntarily flinched. The eagle on his shoulder spread its wings wide, one wing in front of his face so that the fountain and the lion were blocked from sight and all he could see were many little reflections of his own face in the silver, mirror-bright feathers; like gazing into a faceted mirror.  
  
The eagle screamed in reply to the lion's roar, a shrill sharp cry that pierced through the thunder and made it seem less scary. It went on and on, raptor's cry and lion's roar twining about each other, for several long moments. And then abruptly it stopped. Saber, who had been frozen during the whole thing, took a deep breath, catching the scent of feathers and burnished steel for one instant before the eagle folded its wings again.  
  
He looked at the fountain again; but the lion was gone. And then the fountain burst into joyous life, crystalline streams arcing into the air and splashing into the basin with a sound like rain on stone.  
  
__In the shadow of the forest  
  
Old and ancient the fountain may have been, but the water held within its bowl was as fresh and clear as if it had just been drawn from one of the mountain springs of Saber's own beloved Highlands. Saber lowered his cupped hands into the glimmering pool. He was startled and pleased when the water he raised to his lips was not only sweet, but ice-cold as well. He drank his fill of the fountain's water.  
  
He lowered his cupped hands again, splashing the water onto his face. The cool wetness was as a balm to his hot skin. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of cold droplets sliding over his face.  
  
When he opened them again, he was in a place totally different from before. He still stood next to the marble fountain – but he stood now on a carpet of fallen pine needles and damp earth, not lush grass; and the floor was shadowed by the towering forest giants all around him.  
  
__Though she may be old and worn  
You will stare unbelieving  
  
Saber turned his head at the now-familiar shriek of the eagle; he saw its silvery form, duller now in the shadowed forest but still distinguishable, perched on a branch. It shrieked again, and then flew off.  
  
As in the desert, Saber followed. They hadn't gone very far, though, when a flash of white at the corner of his vision distracted him. He turned, instinctively seeking it out. The eagle wheeled, practically on a wing tip, and flew off in the direction of the flash of white. It was surprisingly agile for a bird of its size, darting in between the tall straight trees as easily as a much smaller falcon.  
  
Saber ran after it, moving quickly over the uneven forest floor. He moved clumsily in that he crashed around like a buffalo and shoved branches out of the way roughly, not searching for the subtle forest tracks that make for easier, quieter going – but he did not lose his footing. Suddenly the eagle braked in the air, flaring its wings before dropping to Saber's shoulder. Similarly, Saber skidded to a stop, unmindful of the way his chest heaved and how he gasped for breath. All of his attention was fastened upon the unicorn.  
  
__At the last unicorn  
  
It stood, very calmly and serenely, among the trees, meeting Saber's astonished eyes as though they were old friends who had arranged to meet up there. It seemed removed from the dim shadows of the forest, glowing with a soft white nimbus. Its fur was very white, and its long horn was as gold as sunrise.  
  
It stamped one diamond-like hoof, and vanished._


	5. Traces of Ordeal

            "Saber! Saber!"

            The sound of his mother's voice halted the young scion of House Rider in his tracks. Heaving a sigh of utmost resignation, Saber turned his pony's head around and began trotting back to the castle.

            The sound of the pony's hooves on the cobblestones of the castle courtyard brought Ceri Rider's head up from where she was consulting a small handheld GPS console. Unconsciously, her shoulders eased a fraction, a tension leaving her like a taut wire suddenly let slack as she saw her son.

            "Saber!" The tone this time was less urgent, more a need to put a name to the source of the sudden relief that flooded her than any real call. 

            There wasn't any visible cause for worry. The eight-year-old boy who slid down from his pony's back certainly did not _look sickly. Long since recovered from the illness that had nearly taken his life three years ago and had kept him bedridden for nearly two months afterwards, he did retain some slenderness from that time of IV drips and wasting fever that made him look somewhat slight and delicate – but he was shooting up like a weed, bidding fair to equal his father and uncle's heights of six-feet-plus; and he was fit and tanned, with eyes as bright as the mind behind them, and an easy, high-headed way of moving. This was not to say that there were no effects of that time that still gave Ceri nightmares – but those were more mental than physical._

            Saber had become much quieter since his illness, less prone to his previous capers and pranks. He delighted in riding all over the moorland and forests near Caer Rheidyr. Sometimes he'd bring his practice sword with him and practice his forms there on the moor, leaping and dancing with flashing blade underneath wind and sky. More often, though, he liked to wander aimlessly, with naught but his quiet faithful pony and his own thoughts for company.

            Unfortunately, this tendency to go off alone distressed his mother. For one, she had never quite gotten over Saber's kidnapping and every moment he was not with her, a quiet, subtle but unceasing voice in her mind insisted that he would be taken from her again. For another, she felt that Saber was much too young to be so introspective and solitary. 

            It was never a question of whether or not Saber would be safe on his own. As any child of Antiran heritage, especially those away from the cities, would, he had grown up steeped in the lore and learning of woodcraft – what the Highlanders tended to call the _caillin brath_, the land-sense. Indeed his father and his uncle Adian had themselves thoroughly explored the land as boys themselves – but at least then they'd had each other for company.

            But remembering how it had chafed, being a girl, to not be allowed to accompany her brother and Stephen on their rambles, Ceri endeavored mightily to curb her protective instincts and allow Saber the freedom he desired. Still…

            She caught sight of the portable shelter and saddle-bags of supplies on Aderyn's back. "Going to stay overnight, Saber?" 

            Saber nodded silently. For his eight birthday, he had received, among other things, his father's permission to camp overnight on the moor. He could only do that once or twice a month and clear it with his father first, of course. As quiet and unexuberant as Saber had become, it was easy to see that he was pleased with this new liberty. This would be his third such trip.

            If his mother wouldn't stop him…

            Luck was with him, it seemed. Ceri looked very hard at him for a moment, and Saber braced himself for the denial of permission he was half-sure would follow. Instead, Ceri glanced once at her handheld, sighed much as Saber had earlier, and told him, "Fine. But you be back here before lunchtime tomorrow, do you hear me? And if I find that you've been slacking off from Adian or Gil – " Gilbert Keyes was Saber's governor, tutoring the boy in Grammar, Maths, History and Classicals, " – then you'll have this privilege revoked."

            Saber, aware that both his uncle and his tutor had been pleased with his progress in lessons lately, knew that his mother did not really mean to ground him. Happy with this unexpected leniency, he quirked his lips in a half-smile – about as effusive an expression of delight as you could get from Saber anymore, except for rare occasions – and kissed his mother on the cheek before swinging himself easily onto Aderyn's back. 

            Ceri watched her son ride off, smiling despite the ever-present worry. Saber hardly ever indulged her in such spontaneous displays of affection anymore – but whenever he did, she was reassured of the presence of the Saber she'd once had, the son who would laugh with such bright glee and run up to her and insist on a hug and cuddle, still there beneath the silent, sharp-eyed boy who carried himself as a soldier and never cried anymore.

*** 

AN:

Hello to Daiji! (waves) Newest member of the SratSS fics list, and another Saber-fan! Yay! 

Oh, about the chapter? This chapter is just meant to show the after-effects of the previous two. Also the wandering thing is going to be important. 


	6. Strangers in the Hall

            Saber'd had himself a wonderful time on the moor – beautiful weather, clear skies, and lots of the chill blowy wind that set the grasses to waving like breakers on the shore – lots of the wind that Saber loved. He'd even found an eagles' eyrie, high up on the single mountain on Rider land.

            He'd been brought out of a light doze, more of a dreamy half-consciousness than any real sleep, by the shriek of an eagle. For a moment, in that half-slumber, the raptor's cry brought an image to the front of his mind, of sun-brilliance glinting off a thousand silver shards, but then he woke up fully and he couldn't remember what that silver was, or why the light was so bright – surely it couldn't be the sun, Polaris was too pale and mild for that, especially here on Antir – and in the rush to get on Aderyn's back and set galloping after the eagle, even that flash of image was gone.

            Aderyn was a fast runner, built more on racer's lines than most other Antiran ponies, and Saber (as befitted someone with his sort of surname) was a talented equestrian. Skillfully, he guided his mount over the rolling ground of the moor, following the eagle's flight. The eagle was weighed down with something in its claws and it was only for that reason, swift as Aderyn was, they were able to keep up with the dark brown bird. 

            Saber pulled up as he saw the eagle alight on a spur of rock on Ceisddan's craggy side. He pulled out his macrobinoculars to see the eyrie in more detail.  It was very high up on the mountain, just below the snowline, and Saber could see the eagle he'd followed perched on the edge of the nest. There was another eagle in it, an adult who sat in the middle and greedily tore at the meat that her mate offered. 

            Saber lowered his macros, satisfied. A nesting pair. He rode around on Aderyn for an hour, using the pencils and sketchbook kept in his saddle-bag to sketch some of the landmarks around him. He used up one whole page for a rough but accurate rendering of the spur of rock, and a map to it from the river (which was where he'd camped)

            He then started for his camp, trusting in his extraordinarily acute sense of direction to lead him safely back. By the time he devoured a campfire-cooked breakfast and packed up, it was very nearly noon. And it would take him two hours to ride back to Caer Rheidyr. The euphoria of finding the eagles was half-squashed under his apprehension. His mother did not like his wanderings anyway, and if she could find some reason to curtail it, she would.

            He came within sight of Caer Rheidyr, coming over the same hill his uncle Adian had topped the dawn Saber had been born. Aderyn galloped to the gate, his pace quickening at the thought of a hot mash. Saber dismounted near the stable, handing his pony's reins to a stable boy who materialized silently at his young lord's elbow. He tucked his sketchbook under his arm and, figuring that since he'd catch it for being late no matter what, he might as well take the time to bathe. He entered the castle by one of the many secret entrances, in this case a sliding wall in the gardens, and emerged from the maze of corridors that he called the underwarren into a hallway near his rooms. 

            He ducked into his rooms quickly, before a passing servant could spot him, shucking off his clothes and hurrying through his shower. He ran out of his rooms, shoes in hand, half-hopping as he forced his leg into his trousers. He was just jamming his feet into his shoes when he stopped short, on a step on the wide curving main staircase that led into Caer Rheidyr's Great Hall. 

            Since he was five years old and had been taken away by the mysterious raiders, Saber had not a met a stranger. All his day-to-day contact was with people he'd known for most if not all of his life, save Gilbert Keyes, his governor – and it had taken Saber months before he stopped stiffening whenever the slender, harmless-looking tutor came within three feet of him.

            And now there were strangers in the Great Hall. 


	7. Recovery of Childhood

            Saber edged away from the railings, pupils dilated so that blue iris was nearly swallowed up in darkness. He rose to his feet, minute tremblings in his limbs as he crept up the stairs, and watching where he placed his footfalls with the carefulness of a soldier in a minefield. He mustn't be caught…

            Suddenly he was five years old again, with huge looming cold-eyed men coming after him, and fear was nearly a live thing in him, shrieking and sharp. He reached the top of the stairs, terror a rising crescendo in his mind, until the sheer animal need to escape overwhelmed his wariness.  His steps fell heavy and heedless on the floor as he started to run, with jarring thumps that sent pain through his pumping legs instead of the quick, light-footed pace that Adian had been training into him. He bolted into his room, throat tight over suppressed horror, and threw himself into his closet. He paused only long enough to grab the small scabbarded sword he'd left on his bed.

            Clutching the sword to him like a drowning man to a lifeline, Saber hid in his closet, pressed as tight as he could be against one corner. Like a child wakened by a nightmare, creeping to some sanctuary from horrors of the mind – only he had no sanctuary, and his horrors were real, memories and not dreams. 

            He unsheathed the sword with shaking hands, feeling slightly better when he could see the bare steel glimmering slightly in the dim light from the crack below the closet door. Behind his eyes marched a series of memories; flashes of big hands casually dealing pain; of sneering voices toying with him, telling him in what painful manner he would die, and when, and how; of being shoved roughly into a tiny hole dripping with cold where he stayed for long ages of dark…

*** 

            Ceri found him like that some time later. She opened the closet door to find the point of her son's practice sword aimed at her. Saber held the wire-bound hilt with both hands, the pommel braced against his chest. 

            Ceri took a step back in surprise. Saber looked up at his mother with no tear-tracks, but his skin was pale…and the look in his eyes…

            With a mother's quick intuition, Ceri knew the cause of Saber's distress, and her heart nearly broke. She wanted to kneel, and scoop up this frightened little boy – so different from the quietly confident young wanderer she'd seen off, yesterday morning - into her arms, smooth the hair away from his face, and sooth the memories away.

            And then a little blonde head popped out from behind her, and looked curiously at the boy hiding in the closet. "Whatcha doin'?"

            Saber stared. Behind his mother stood a small child. Blonde and blue-eyed like himself, but both hair and eyes of a paler shade than his own. Younger, too. And the voice had an unfamiliar cadence to it, not the Highlander or even Kingdom accent which most everyone whom Saber had ever heard – even the people on the holos and vids – spoke with. 

            "Whatcha doin' there?" The question was repeated as the other child came fully out from behind his mother. "Are you his mom, Aunt Ceri?"

            "Yes, I am," Ceri said, inwardly amused at the easy way that this child so confidently called her 'Aunt Ceri' – they'd met only an hour earlier. She noticed the way Saber's eyes cleared and focused as he stared in half-disbelief; he'd never had much chance to interact with other children. Apparently this new, unexpected development was interesting enough to break him away from his memories. How ironic, that the event which had triggered Saber's long-repressed trauma had also brought something to snap him out of it.

            She opened her mouth, to tell Saber to introduce himself to their new young guest, but was preempted. Saber scrambled to his feet, not quite sure what to do. His practice sword dangled from its hilt, held loosely in Saber's left hand. He had to use his right to shake the hand the other child offered.

            "Hi! I'm April Eagle. Who're you?"

            "I'm Saber."

***

            Ceri would later thank God for gregarious April Eagle, and the positive effect she had on her son. The friendly little girl - outgoing, clever and seemingly unaware of the word 'fear' - kept Saber in a state of confused wonder – and thus away from a state of trauma-induced panic and shock. 

            Joseph Eagle – widower, single father, colonel in the New Frontier's Cavalry Command – was also a good friend of Stephen Rider. The two men had met several years before, during a game between the UK's most elite boarding school – where most of its nobles and royalty went – Northsands, and Cavalry Command's Military Academy, as captains of their respective soccer teams. Though they hardly saw each other, both men were similar enough in temperament that the friendship remained strong despite distance.

            Stephen had invited his old friend over to his estate for a few weeks of vacation. This would be the first time Joseph and Adian would meet, and the first time any of the Riders would see Joseph's young daughter, April. 

            Wisely, Joseph wasn't introduced to Saber until the next afternoon. By that time, Saber trusted April so much that seeing his new friend run into the arms of the frightening tall stranger alleviated his fear, and he even shook Joseph's hand when introduced.

            Ceri was delighted with the change having a playmate his own age wrought on Saber. She saw a re-emergence of his wider, careless smile; he laughed more, talked more – the kitchen staff even had to begin fearing practical jokes once more. Of course Ceri with a carefully stern face had to scold the two culprits, but her heart leapt when she turned away and out of the corner of her eye caught the wink Saber sent April. 

*** 

            The days before the Eagles' departure spun by quickly in a whirl of childish delight and games. The blond-headed duo even threw the castle into an uproar when they quite suddenly disappeared. Their absence was discovered in the early morning, when their beds were found unslept in. A frantic attempt to pull together a search-party was interrupted when the two came riding back to Caer Rheidyr, unharmed and certainly unaware that they had caused such an uproar. Apparently Saber had taken April out early that morning to show her his new discovery – the eagles' eyrie – because "her last name's Eagle, too…"

            This time Ceri's scolding had the real anger of worried parents behind it. Joseph himself seemed to take his daughter's hijinks as wearily matter-of-course. Ceri imposed a sentence of confinement to Caer Rheidyr grounds and increased lessons with Gil, but the real punishment, it was clear, came on the day the Eagles returned to their home on Yuma. 

*** 

            "Saber?" 

            The little boy ignored his mother, and the hand she placed gently on his shoulder. He stood stiffly, almost at-attention, as he watched the small black dot that was the shuttle-craft recede into the distance.

            He turned to his mother, and offered a small smile. "I'm alright, mum." And Ceri, looking into his eyes, knew that was right. Together, mother and son walked back into the castle.

*** 

AN: Wellup, here we are. Saber's reaction to the Eagles is a remnant of his trauma. And remember, trauma's got to brought into the open before it can begin to be addressed. 

  
As for chibi-Saber and chibi-April's friendship? Well, in the show we know that Saber and April have met before. So I figured, why not have them meet as kids? It could have happened.


	8. Hilts of Ivory

            Saber was ten years old now, a tallish, slender boy with a serious demeanor and observing ways. He'd had few dealings with other children since the Eagles' visit, and aside from his letters to April, only contact with adults. Again the childish jokes and the carefree grin disappeared – gradually now, instead of trauma-sudden, but nonetheless thoroughly. His early maturity was further augmented by the way he spent his days; as ducal heir and aspirant blademaster, he had less free time than most children, less free time than he used to have. Gone were the days of wandering the moors - all his time was dedicated to education, if not education in the conventional sense.

            There was his increasingly grueling training with Adian. Not only in bladefighting, now, but other forms of combat as well – stealth, empty-handed fighting, marksmanship, and the lessons he hated worst of all, the ways of detecting assassination. 

            His lessons with Gil had become harder as well, with more focus now on galaxy civics and applied mathematics. It had never been so firmly impressed onto Saber what responsibilities his birth had laid on him. There was a seriousness in his training that hadn't been evident when he was younger – his teachers now increasingly intent on making sure he learned as much as he could, as fast as he could.    

Aside from his formal lessons, his father had taken to bringing Saber along with him to oversee the state of Rheidyr. Stephen did this as much to remind his people who their next duke was to be as to accustom Saber to the duties of ruling. Soon, the sight of the fair-haired lad beside his father, watching with quiet eyes all that occurred around him, was as familiar to Rheidyr folk as was his father the Duke himself. 

            So Saber came along to inspect farmlands and ranches, and learnt the beginnings of economics. He went to preserves and hunting grounds and learnt how to balance environmental concerns with the needs of his people. He went with Adian and Stephen to oversee the castle and learnt how to arrange for security. He sat beside his father at meetings with his advisors and lieutenants, and learnt how to recognize good men and good advice. And most importantly, he watched his father, and learnt how to command so that men would obey. 

            Saber was an apt student of all he was taught, but even the best students make mistakes. These were dealt with sternly, more sternly than Saber expected. The first times he was reprimanded, he came away resentful and a little surprised. He realized soon enough, however, the reason for the increasing stringency. When he was grown, any mistakes he made would affect the life of not only himself, but the lives of all his people. 

            This realization did nothing to help a young boy act young at all. 

            The adults in his life - his parents and his uncle and even Gilbert Keyes, who was no relation but found himself increasingly fond of his young charge – regretted the boy's forced maturity, but would not ease up on their demands on him. The Kingdom was in an increasing state of turmoil, with factioning in the government – both planetary and system – and civil wars burgeoning in nearly every sector. The Lion Throne stood still, but on foundations that weakened daily. And though they did not speak of it aloud, nor even really admitted it to themselves, they were preparing Saber should the worst happen. 

*** 

            "Are you ready, Saber?" 

            "Almost!" Saber called back, pulling his black boots onto his feet. He and his father were in a mansion on the southern borderlands of Rheidyr, owned by one of his father's vassals. They had slept over the night before, so that they could leave in the morning for a conference with Baron Macduff, who held the lands to Rheidyr's south. The current Baron was only newly instated – he was the youngest of the previous Baron's three sons, and the only one left living. Stephen – and most of Antir, for that matter – had doubts concerning the way the other two Macduffs had died, but there was nothing concrete to link Ronald Macduff to the immeasurably convenient death of his brothers.

Saber ran down to the mansion's foyer, where his father waited for him. Stephen Rider was in the full regalia of a Lord of the Kingdom, as was required of one about to visit another for diplomatic negotiations. His son was in a smaller version of the same, identical down to the ceremonial ivory-hilted sword at his side. What few people knew, of course, was that the ivory hilt could be removed to show a more functional leather-bound wire hilt, as was the case with his father's sword. Even fewer knew that the small boy could use the sword with skill much unexpected in someone of his age. 

            Stephen looked at his son, noting the crisp precision of his outfit. Finally Saber seemed to be learning the importance of appearance as well as actual substance, especially in dealing with their fellow nobles. It was a slightly distasteful lesson, but one he needed to learn. Thus, the uncomfortable clothes and the decorative hilts – but ever the real blade beneath the ivory trimmings. 

            "Saber, fix your cravat." 

            Saber flushed and pulled at the white cloth at his throat, succeeding in nothing but further disarray. Stephen made a sound that was half-sigh and half-snort and stepped closer to his son to fix it, idly remembering the times his own father had had to do this for him. Perhaps a dislike for cravats was genetically transmitted through the Rider bloodline. 

            "There, all done," he said in satisfaction, stepping away to survey his handiwork. Saber made a face, probably at the tightness of his new-adjusted cravat, and reached up to loosen the cloth before catching sight of his father's warning expression. 

            "Let's go, son." 

            They would be traveling to the Macduff castle, Glasnair, on horseback. Stephen felt glad for the extra money he had paid for Aderyn, as he noticed that the specially-bred pony was keeping up with his longer-limbed mount. They trotted grandly out of the mansion's foreyard, an honor-guard of twelve men-at-arms falling into place behind the two Riders. A young standard-bearer, puffed up with the distinction, rode just behind Saber, a banner with the Rider coat-of-arms emblazoned on the white cloth. As they left, the lord of the manor – Stephen's loyal vassal, and a friend of his as well – had his men unsheathe their swords in salute. 

            They arrived in Glasnair in an hour, it being close to their borders. As Stephen dismounted, he noticed the large number of soldiers in the Macduff colors of red and black waiting for them in the courtyard. He frowned, and his hand moved in the Rider battle-signs, signaling his honor-guard to form in close around himself and his son. They did so, their hands on their weapons, eyes wary.

            They dismounted, handing the reins of their fifteen horses to hostlers who led them to the stables. Stephen walked up the steps to Glasnair's doorway, hearing his lieutenant behind him issue orders to two men to watch the horses. Then he and the remaining nine formed up again around their lord. 

            A man waited for them inside Glasnair, a dark-haired man with cold dark eyes and a hooked nose. Stephen looked down at the much-shorter man with carefully hidden contempt. He recognized the man, from descriptions, as Harold Smithson, Macduff's seneschal and – if rumor be true – the actual mastermind behind his gaining the barony. 

            "Ah, Duke Rider," he said, smiling. Though his pronunciation was perfect, somehow Stephen was reminded of the hiss of a snake when he heard the man speak. Perhaps it was his accent, different from the Highlander norm – Smithson was an outlander. Smithson's eyes flickered to Saber, and his smile widened. "And this must be the young Saber."

            Solemnly, Saber inclined his head in acknowledgment. His blue eyes fixed on the man's face with an intensity that was just short of staring, and Stephen knew instinctively that Saber was beginning to dislike the man just as much as he did. 

            "The Baron Macduff is very pleased to have you here at Glasnair," Harold continued, when it became obvious that neither Rider was going to respond verbally to his initial greeting. "Please follow me. I shall take you to him."

            _Pleased – hmph. If he were so pleased, Saber thought sourly, _why isn't he down himself to greet us, instead of having his flunky lead us to him as if we were supplicants and he the king? __

He had no idea that his emotions were showing on his face until he felt his father's hand tap his. He glanced down, watching Stephen's fingers flicker in the private sign-language of the Riders, warning him to keep his feelings to himself. Obediently, Saber schooled his face into a semblance of composure. The semblance flickered, however, when Smithson suddenly demanded that the men-at-arms remain behind, and that Stephen and Saber surrender any weapons on their persons. 

            This was a terrible insult to House Rider – first, by implying that they would be so ignoble as to use either their weapons or their soldiers to harm their host – and secondly, by implying that House Rider was so low in rank as to accept the commands of someone who, at best, would be called their peer. 

            The soldiers themselves grew agitated, and angry muttering filled the air. Stephen narrowed his eyes before asking, in a voice that caused all his men to immediately fall silent, "Would you be so good as to tell me why?"

            Beside him, Saber fought off a sudden urge to grin. By forcing Smithson to offer an explanation, Stephen had brought about a turning of the tables. Justification of actions was what a subordinate was required to offer his superior. 

            Smithson was caught so off-guard that he almost stammered. "Ah, the Baron has thought it…"

            "I see," Stephen said regally, interrupting the other man. "Young Macduff is concerned about the welfare of my soldiers, seeing as we've been riding for nearly an hour now. It is very good of him," he continued, in a tone like a teacher praising his kindergarten student's attempts at art. He turned to his soldiers, and in a single sweeping wave of his hand that looked very dramatic and was something he'd normally never do, dismissed them.         

            The soldiers, very attentive to their Duke's frame of mind, immediately grasped his intent. As one, they offered a sharp salute, then about-faced and marched away. As they left, Saber could swear he heard some snickering drifting back to them. 

            Smithson, not quite succeeding in hiding his glower, showed them into the room where the Baron would officially meet them. Saber walked a pace behind his father, blue eyes darting around the room and taking account of every detail. Adian's training made it automatic for him to immediately plot several exits out of the room, should they be needed, as well as spotting places where hidden guards – or worse – could be hiding. He could detect only two, and wondered if the Baron was really good enough to hide his other guards – or if he had only the pair in hiding. 

            The Baron himself was seated at the head of a long dining-table, a goblet of what Saber suspected to be highly alcoholic wine clenched in his hand. The thick-set Baron had startlingly red hair and pale skin, with close-set eyes that watched the two Riders intently. He did not rise to greet them, and in return Stephen did little more than nod his head coolly as he pulled himself a chair. Saber did not sit, but stood behind his father's chair, in posture and demeanor like a page awaiting his lord's command. 

            "Hello, Rider," the man said, raising his cup in what might have been a toast. Saber wasn't sure. 

            "Macduff," said Stephen, in a tone as cold as his nod earlier. 

            That was all the small-talk that they would be exchanging that day. They immediately set to business, arguing out the borders and treaties between Rheidyr and Macduff's estate, Malvon. Stephen had not brought Adian along because Macduff had indicated this was to be a private talk; and protocol dictated that in such a meeting, only members of the families involved ought to be present. But Smithson was there, standing behind his master's chair in an almost-mirror of Saber's position. Saber found himself often glancing around the room in order to avoid having to look at Smithson. 

            A futile hour later, both nobles arose for a mutually-agreed-upon break – which was about the only thing they had agreed on so far. Stephen walked outside, to where his soldiers waited for him – he did not trust Macduff to not have rigged his castle with hidden listening devices. He was fairly sure that Macduff could not have rigged devices to listen to people in the middle of the big stone-flagged courtyard, however, and so talked to Saber there. 

            "What do you think, Saber?"

            Although his outings with his father took much-needed time away from his studies, Saber thought the price small to pay for being in his father's company – and to be talked to like this, like he was full-grown and his opinions mattered, and that his father depended on what he said and thought and did. 

            "Well…" Saber was silent for a moment, his mind humming away on the brutal lines of logic that he had discovered he had a talent for. "The castle seems run-down…" he said finally. "Signs of upkeep are sporadic. Look at the soldiers!" he said, though quietly. The men in Macduff black-and-red did look somewhat scruffy compared to the immaculate state of Rheidyr's soldiers. "It was his fights with his brothers, right? They each squandered Malvon's resources in order to try and win…" he continued, looking at his father for confirmation. When Stephen gave a single nod, Saber continued, more confident. "So he's desperate for money."

            "That's correct," Stephen said, nodding again. "So what do we do with that information?"

            "Er…" Saber fell silent again as he thought. 

            With subtle prompting, Stephen guided Saber to the plan of battle – for that was what the negotiations were, even if no physical violence was involved – they were to adopt for the meeting. Rheidyr would offer Malvon several concessions to ease Malvon's financial straits, in return for the concessions Stephen _really wanted – the ones to ensure Rheidyr's security and inviolability. Stephen was one of the richest men in the kingdom, a fact he kept well-hidden by his relatively low-key style of living, and Rheidyr would easily absorb the losses. Not that he meant for Malvon to __keep those concessions… _

            "Why, father?" Saber asked, fascinated. Trained from early on for rule, he found these games of power incredibly engaging, interested in them in a way most children would not be.

            "We're buying time with this, Saber, and that's all we're doing. But in a few years, if I read him right, Malvon's increased resources will make Macduff ambitious again. And that's when we'll make our move."

            "War?" Saber said, eyes shining with a young boy's dreams of glory and honor on the battlefield. Stephen, who knew better, shook his head with a sigh. He'd avoid it if he could, but the meeting had done nothing but strengthen his conviction. Macduff had a nearly insatiable lust for power, and an advisor – that damned Smithson! – who would egg him on. War was, to say the least, inevitable. At least this way he would have the time to refine his forces and prepare them.

            "You will not say a word of this to anyone," he warned Saber, who did nothing but shoot him an annoyed glance for assuming he would be so incredibly careless as to break silence. "Come, Saber. I believe our break is over."

            And they went back into Glasnair.

*** 


End file.
